


Keep the Devil From My Door

by gemini_melia



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M, plotless bonding, with a side of smut and vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_melia/pseuds/gemini_melia
Summary: Mike’s death brings Nacho, Jimmy, and Jesse together in an unexpected way.





	Keep the Devil From My Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ven_the_Vandal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ven_the_Vandal/gifts).



 

The house was quiet. To a casual observer it appeared dark, but with Nacho’s long years of practice he picked up on the faint glow of light coming from the back of the house. It was the type of light suburban moms left on 24/7 to scare off burglars, along with the faint scratchy sound of FM radio in the background, meant to mimic conversation - a false panoply of life.

There was no car in the driveway, but the garage was closed up tight, hiding any sign of who lived in the house. Nacho had a feeling the car inside would stand out in stark contrast to the modest rancher.

The homes in the neighborhood were humbler than the rest of Corrales’ upscale places - where the CEOs and VPs went after a long day of money making, where they pretended to give a shit about the land - for its beauty, its power, its pointed marker of status. What this neighborhood lacked in luster, it made up for in isolation. The nearest neighbor was several acres away, and most were even further, only faint pinpricks of light in the setting sun.

Nacho checked his phone. He sighed at the lack of messages waiting for him and ignored the creeping apprehension that settled at the base of his neck and made his shoulder blades itch. Mike would text him like he always did, Nacho told himself. The next time you meet for breakfast, he’ll grunt to hide a laugh and mock you for the lengths you went to figure out where he went.

 _McGill?_ Mike will ask, incredulous, over his usual cup of black coffee. _You actually thought James McGill could help you find me?_

 _I was desperate_ , Nacho will say across from him.

Mike will stare at him for a long moment before snorting and shaking his head. _Clearly_ , he’ll say, and Nacho will chuckle and dig into his eggs.

When Nacho knocked on the door of Jimmy McGill’s house, he was met with silence. He wasn’t surprised. Men like Jimmy didn’t move to a neighborhood like this if they expected unannounced company. Just as he was raising his hand to knock again, Nacho heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

“Relax,” Nacho said as the door opened, and he met Jimmy’s eyes as they peered out at him. Nacho hadn’t seen him in years, but despite the receding hairline and crows feet, he’d know Jimmy McGill anywhere. When Jimmy’s eyes widened in recognition, Nacho stepped forward, wedging his foot against the door, so the door wouldn’t slam in his face.

“I’m here alone.” Nacho said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Jimmy croaked, looking over Nacho’s shoulder in search of an ambush.

“I just want to talk.”

“Call my office,” Jimmy said harshly, finally pausing his search and looking at Nacho again. “Make an appointment.”

“I’m not looking for a lawyer,” Nacho told him. “I’m not looking for Saul Goodman.”

Jimmy watched him warily for a few more moments before letting his shoulders sag and heaving a heavy sigh, stepping back and opening the door wider. Nacho tilted his head, taking in the rumpled orange dress shirt and matching orange and blue tie that hung loosely at his unbuttoned collar, the red-rimmed eyes and dark circles beneath them.

“I wasn’t sure you were still around,” Jimmy said, turning away from the door and walking down the short front hall to where the kitchen opened up at the back of the house. “Haven’t heard your name in a while.”

“Unlike you, I keep a low profile,” Nacho said, and he couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that invaded his words. Jimmy picked up on it and tossed a fleeting grin over his shoulder before turning and leaning against the kitchen counter.

Unlike its careworn exterior, the interior of the house was newer, more modern - clean and bare in a way that told Nacho it probably didn’t get much use. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jimmy only came here when he needed a serious break from the demands of Saul Goodman and Associates. It had taken Nacho a bit of digging to find Jimmy in Corrales. He’d come across two false leads before finally expanding his search outside of the city. Saul Goodman may have been a loudmouthed fool, but James McGill still knew how to cover his ass.

“I’m looking for information,” he said, cutting to the chase. He had wasted enough time already, had second guessed his instincts in a way he never should. Jimmy glances at him from where he stood several feet away, eyes weary but steady, waiting. “When’s the last time you saw Mike Ehrmantraut?”

“Couple weeks ago,”Jimmy said, and Nacho was surprised at the candor. But no, that’s not right, Nacho thought, and his stomach churned. The circles under Jimmy’s eyes, the slump to his posture, told a different story. It wasn’t candor - it was resignation.

“Where is he?” Nacho pressed, and he couldn’t help the fear that jolted up his spine, the adrenaline that seeped into his fingertips. Jimmy stood up straighter, crossing his arms.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, looking Nacho squarely in the eye. It may have been years since they’d seen each other, but Jimmy McGill’s tells hadn’t changed. That brash confidence, that bravado may have won him clients, but Nacho would always know when he was  lying. He moved quickly across the kitchen tile, stepping into Jimmy’s space in one swift glide.

“ _Where is he?_ ” Nacho demanded, voice low, practically nose to nose with Jimmy. The last time they’d been this close had not ended well, but it was always a toss up when it came to them. Jimmy met his gaze for a long moment, practically going cross-eyed, before finally relenting.

“I don’t know, Nacho,” he said quietly, eyes lowered. “Last I heard he was leaving town. The DEA was getting to Fring’s men, so he split. How far he got - like I said, your guess is as good as mine.” Up close, Jimmy’s exhaustion was even more pronounced and Nacho realized he wasn’t the only one left dealing with the fallout of Fring’s crumbling empire.

“If the DEA took him out, I’d know. They got to Wachsberger. If they got Mike, too, it would be all over the news, Jimmy.” Jimmy shrugged and Nacho moved even closer, so his arms encased Jimmy, trapping him against the counter. “Stop yanking my chain. Who took him out?” he repeated.

Jimmy pushed Nacho back a step, letting his hand linger on Nacho’s chest as he looked up at him. “I don’t know for sure, okay?”

“Who the fuck are you protecting?” Nacho growled, leaning in again and gripping Jimmy by the arms.

“My client,” he growled back. “You might remember what that’s like.”

That brought Nacho up short. He looked down at Jimmy - at Saul Goodman, he mentally corrected - trying to discern what the last five years had done to the man. When they’d parted ways, Nacho was still trying to lure him out, to stop playing by the rules. He knew the man had loosened his morals - he’d seen the ads. But to know he’d taken the plunge into representing drug dealers and killers was more than Nacho had expected.

“Jesus Christ,” Nacho muttered, and he couldn’t help the dark laugh that bubbled up out of him. Jimmy looked at him warily, and it was such a familiar look from him that Nacho could momentarily forget why he was here, could forget that his friend was probably dead in a shallow grave somewhere off the Coronado Freeway. “I spent a year trying to fuck the straight and narrow out of you - with little success I might add - and now here you are, what - representing fucking _Heisenberg_?”

Jimmy stared at Nacho, his face going pale. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Nacho silenced him with a firm kiss. Mentioning Heisenberg had been a gamble, a guess, but an educated one. Working in Fring’s circle, even at the edges like Nacho did, meant he knew enough about the competition to know who would target them. But Heisenberg was like a ghost story. Even Mike wouldn’t talk about him. _The less you know, the better. Trust me,_ he’d say, and Nacho did.

When he pulled back for air, Nacho took stock of Jimmy’s swollen lips and glazed expression. He trailed a hand down Jimmy’s shirt, over his expanding gut, toward his belt buckle. He paused his hand, felt his own erection pressing against his jeans at the sight of Jimmy’s Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, before sliding his palm over Jimmy’s pants. If Heisenberg made Mike nervous, the fact that Jimmy had wormed his way into his business, too, that he’d managed to survive this long to reap the benefits, made Nacho see him in a new light.

Nacho squeezed, felt Jimmy’s dick jump and strain behind his pants, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction - not yet. He moved his hand again, further between Jimmy’s legs, and felt his balls through the fabric.

“Well well,” Nacho purred, “Working for Heisenberg. Look who finally grew a pair.” Jimmy’s eyes were wide, and Nacho would think he were terrified if not for the shuffling of his feet, the widening of his stance to give Nacho more access. He quirked an eyebrow at the move, and Jimmy visibly fought against the patchy blush that crept up his neck.

Nacho leaned in and latched his mouth on Jimmy’s pulse. Beneath him, Jimmy’s hips bucked and Nacho ground his hand into Jimmy’s groin for a moment before placing a hand on his chest, stilling him. Jimmy’s breath puffed unsteadily in Nacho’s ear and Nacho bit down on his neck. The sharp moan from Jimmy sent a jolt down his spine and Nacho moved to unzip his own jeans before he could think about it.

In the brief moment of lost contact, Jimmy moved to free his own dick, undoing his belt buckle and letting his suit trousers fall to the floor. Nacho took a moment to take in the sight before him - Jimmy McGill in a bright orange shirt that clashes painfully with his thinning red hair. His boxers were equally garrish - bright blue with a pattern of tiny potted cacti. The only thing appealing about them is the cock tenting the fabric, and Nacho moved in again, yanked them out of the way and ran a rough hand up the length of it. Jimmy jerked against him again and this time almost lost his balance. Nacho steadied him with a hand on his tie.

Once he was sure Jimmy wasn’t about to fall flat on his face, Nacho tugged at the tie again, pulling Jimmy away from the counter. But Jimmy resisted. Nacho raised an eyebrow again.

“What happened to those balls?” he asked.

“I, uhm,” Jimmy stammered, and by now his blush has crept all the way to the roots of his hair. “I actually have, uh...company.”

Nacho blinked and stepped back, putting a solid two feet of distance between them as he tilted his head to listen. There was a faint sound of music coming from the backyard. Nacho peered through the kitchen window and could see, several yards away, the burning glow of a fire pit and the silhouette of someone slumped in a low chair. He cursed under his breath, wondering when he’d become so easily distracted.

He thought of Mike sitting across from him with his coffee, taking in the turn of events. His face will turn incredulous and he’ll mutter, _Get your dick wet on your own time. How was that gonna help you find me?_

 _I knew what I was doing_ , Nacho will tell him. _Look how easy it is to get his defenses down._ But Mike will sense the evasion, the half-truth.

Nacho rolled his shoulders, urging the tension out of them as his erection began to fade. When he turned back to Jimmy, the man was taking deep breaths against the kitchen counter, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s time for you to talk, McGill,” Nacho said, keeping his voice low now that he knew they werne’t alone. “If Heisenberg took Mike out, I need to know. You need to tell me.”

Jimmy was already shaking his head. “Look, if you think you can come in here and butter me up with with a nice tug, then you’re out of luck, my friend.”

“There are plenty of other ways - far less _nice_ ways - for me to get what I want from you. Do not think that I won’t.”

“You always did like it rough, “Jimmy muttered. “And you knew I was always happy to give you what you wanted.”

Nacho leaned back in, tired of Jimmy’s mouth and even more tired of his own dick, which had jumped again at the mental image of the last time Jimmy had given Nacho what he wanted - a nice hard fuck in the nail salon, Jimmy bent over that fancy desk.

“Then give me Heisenberg.” When Jimmy didn’t even flinch, Nacho changed tactics. “So, who’s your friend out there?”

Jimmy blinked, blindsided by the sudden shift in conversation.

“Maybe they can help – ” Before Nacho could say anything else, Jimmy moved swiftly to block Nacho from moving toward the sliding door that led to the patio.

“You need to leave, Nacho,” Jimmy said. His whole demeanor had shifted. His back straightened, his voice hardened, and his eyes cleared. Jimmy put a hand to Nacho’s chest and pushed, hard. Nacho let him, but he didn’t leave. He wouldn’t, not with this new information.

“You might have a nice little life out here, Jimmy, but some things never change. You’re an opportunist, like me. You have the opportunity to give me a name -- an opportunity to keep you and your nice little girlfriend safe.” He jerked his head toward the window, to where the fire was dying. Nacho’s stomach sunk as he realized he couldn’t see the silhouette anymore.

“I’ll give you a name,” came a voice from behind Nacho. He whirled around and was met with a scrawny man - barely more than a kid, he thought - dressed in an oversized hoodie. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Kid, don’t. Let me handle this,” said Jimmy, and Nacho realized this must be Jimmy’s company.

“He wants a name. Just give him the fucking name.”

“We don’t have any evidence --”

“Fuck evidence, you know it’s true,” the kid said, eyes flashing with anger. “You shoulda seen him. He stood there and looked me in the eye and lied to me. Like he always does. He knows exactly where Mike is, and if you listened to me, you would, too. Why the fuck do you trust him and not me?”

“Jesus Christ, Jesse. How many times do we have to have this conversation? I don’t trust him, but the minute he thinks we snitched - because _Nacho_ here is knocking down his door - then _we’re_ dead.”

“Not if he’s dead, first, Saul. Not if we get the fuck out of here, and don’t look back,” Jesse said, voice low, but resigned. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Nacho realized then that he recognized the kid. He was the partner Mike told him about.

“You’re Pinkman, right?” Nacho said, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening. If Jimmy wouldn’t give him what he wanted, then maybe Jesse Pinkman would.

“What’s it to you?” Jesse said, moving to the fridge, where he pulled out a beer.

“Mike’s mentioned your name,” Nacho told him. Jesse looked warily between Nacho and Jimmy. “I’ve known Mike a long time,” Nacho offered. “Jimmy here can attest to that, too.”

Jimmy just shrugged. When Jesse raised an incredulous eyebrow, he relented. “Fine, yeah,” Jimmy sighed viscously. “We were the best of friends. I remember the first time we met. You almost cut my fingers off - or maybe you were going to shoot out my kneecaps. It’s all such a _fucking blur_!”

“Please, I saved your ass from Tuco - and your fingers,” said Nacho, and he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. The first time he’d seen Jimmy, he was convinced it would be the last. Men like that - innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time - never saw the back of a man like Tuco. They always ended up in the ground first. But Jimmy - whose mouth was almost a big as his balls - had held his ground. And that had made Nacho look twice. It’s what made him keep looking, even now.

“Woah, you’re telling me _Saul_ had a run-in with Tuco Salamanca?” Jesse asked, and Nacho was surprised to see him reach back into the fridge and pull out two more beers, his interest peaked. “How the fuck are you still here, dude?”

“Who are you talking to, kid?” Jimmy said, with a glimmer of his old swagger coming back into his voice. “I appealed to his better nature.”

Jesse snorted. He stepped closer to Jimmy, a small smirk playing at his lips, as he handed him a beer. “Yeah right,” he said, before moving past him, back to the door and the fire beyond. As he went outside, Nacho turned to pick up the second beer that Jesse had sat on the counter.

“Well,” he said, turning to Jimmy. “Shall we?”

* * *

Jesse had built the fire up again by the time Nacho and Jimmy made their way outside. The heat of the day had cooled to a brisk, dry desert night, and the kid was back to huddling in his camp chair with his hood drawn up. But when he saw them joining him, he stopped his brooding and sat forward.

“You said you knew Mike a long time,” he said, scuffing his thumb along the label of his beer bottle. “So, like, how’d you meet him?”

Jimmy snorted from where he sat on Jesse’s left. “Mike’s the only person I know who managed to go from old geezer to badass and not the other way around.”

“He was always a badass –” Nacho said.

“He was an old man working as a parking attendant. It was sad!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Nacho told Jesse. “The first time I met Mike he was acting as security detail for this total dumbass. He could have wiped the floor with him, made some good money and walked away. But he never took the easy way out.”

“Oh, Christ,” Jimmy groaned. “Don’t give him so much credit. I was the one who had to clean up that mess.”

“You shoulda seen this guy,” Nacho said, and he leaned in, warming his hands by the fire, and catching Jesse’s eye with a grin. “He probably looked up how to deal drugs on Wikipedia, or some shit. The minute he makes a buck, he rolls back up to our drop spot in this mammoth fucking Hummer. He’s going on and on about cruising around with two chicks in the car, and I doubt this dude has ever gotten more than a pity fuck.”

“Ugh, can we not talk about him and fucking,” Jimmy said, pulling a face. “I’m already having flashbacks.”

“Uh, yo, what are you talking about?”

Nacho sat back and listened to Jimmy regale Jesse with the story of Pryce and what turned out to be some twisted videos about pie fucking that Nacho had never heard. Jesse had let his hood fall down and his eyes lit up as he tilted his head back and laughed. When Mike had told Nacho about Jesse, it was first as a potential complication, and later as a potentially valuable asset.

 _He’s volatile_ , Mike had said. _But he’s got heart._ And Nacho could see the lingering affection there, hidden where Mike kept what was left of his personal life, the few things he could protect.

Nacho could see what he meant. He could see it in the warmth of Jesse’s smile as he listened to Saul tell his stories. He could see it in the way he’d reached out to Nacho instead of telling him to fuck off. The hair trigger was still there, beneath the surface. He could see it in the tension he held in his shoulders, in the sleepless eyes. But if Mike’s influence was anything to go by, the kid had managed to get it under control - at least from time to time. At least for now.

“You are the weirdest motherfucker I know,” Jesse was saying to Jimmy, who was grinning back at him and leaning in close, raising his eyebrows suggestively. It was clownish and the least sexy move Nacho had ever seen, but it didn’t stop Jesse from leaning in to kiss Jimmy, like it was something he did every day. Nacho realized that maybe it was.

* * *

Nacho wasn’t drunk, but he was tired. The fire had died down to nothing but glowing embers and he was alone. The wind kicked up and he suppressed a shiver. When he looked at his phone to check the time, he realized he’d spent the entire evening without looking for Mike’s text. For the first time in days, he had felt Mike with him, despite his marked absence.

Nacho felt his stomach sink at the thought - at the realization - that the text was not going to come. His eyes itched. He sat forward, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, pressed against his closed eyelids until he saw stars. He clenched his fist until his nails bit into his skin. He had let himself get drawn in by nostalgia. It felt like giving up.

Behind him, Nacho heard muffled voices. He could see through the kitchen door that Jimmy and Jesse were arguing about something. Jesse was getting up in his face, tilting his head back until they were nose to nose. By the look of things, Jimmy waffled between sneering sarcasm and earnest seriousness. That was nothing new, Nacho thought. After a few moments, Jimmy threw his hands up and stormed off.

Nacho was making his way back to the house, ready to drive home - maybe with a quick stop past Stacey’s house to make sure she and Kaylee were okay, to check for any sign of Mike - when Jesse opened the back door.

“Here,” Jesse said, and handed Nacho a slip of paper. When he looked at it, he saw a name and address. He knew immediately who it belonged to.

“I thought –”

“He thinks it’s a stupid idea. But he spends most of his time trying to cover his own ass, so like, what else is new? This was my call.”

“Thanks,” Nacho said. His ears were ringing. For some reason, despite his plans, despite his anger, he didn’t expect to get what he’d come here for. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against the paper, watching the graphite smear slightly on the edge of a scribbled _W_.

“Look, dude. Nacho,” Jesse said, eyes serious. “Whatever you’ve heard about him, like... a lot of it’s bullshit, but if you’re going after him, just don’t underestimate him, okay? I knew him better than most, and look where it got me. Look where it got Mike.”

Nacho looked at the name, the Albuquerque address, and memorized them, before handing the paper back to Jesse. “I’ll be careful. I was taught by the best.” Jesse gave a small smile at that.

He should leave, Nacho thought. But he lingered, wanting to hold onto the fleeting contentment that this small shred of companionship had brought him.

“He gonna be okay?” Nacho asked, nodding his head in the direction that Jimmy had stormed off to. Jesse nodded, eyes distant. “What about you?”

“Yeah,” he said. He looked at Nacho and his eyes cleared. “Yeah, I think so.”

* * *

It took Nacho a couple of days to find Walter White, to track down 308 Negra Arroyo Lane. It took him a few days more to track the man’s movements, to note his schedule.

Mike had taught Nacho how to use a sniper rifle, how to be still, how to let his target come to him. As Nacho checked his angles one last time, letting his breath flow out of his lungs, he pulled the trigger. Across the highway, in the parking lot of a self-storage facility, a splatter of blood stained the ivory interior of a green Pontiac Aztec.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Nacho pulled up outside Jimmy’s house in Corrales that evening. It was an impulsive move that would have had Mike chewing his ear off - but for once, Nacho ignored the voice in his head.

The lights were on inside, but no one answered. After several minutes, he snuck around the back of the house. Despite the lights, the place looked deserted. When Nacho tried the back door, he was startled that the handle gave way, unlocked.

“Jimmy?” he called out, but was met with a deafening silence. There were dishes in the sink and an empty pizza box left on the counter. When he walked down the hall to the bedroom, he saw the closet door open, with a row of empty hangers. Several gaudy ties laid haphazardly across the bed, and several pairs of sneakers that Nacho could only assume were Jesse’s sat on the floor.

Checking the rest of the house, he found it deserted. The flat screen TV and sound systems were untouched. Before he left, he took a look in the garage, where he found a shiny white Cadillac.

As Nacho drove away, back to Albuquerque, his chest ached – a twinge of regret, or maybe jealousy. He remembered the look on Jesse’s face, the clarity in his eyes when he said they would be okay.

Maybe Nacho would be, too.


End file.
